What the Thunder said
by Zoisite
Summary: Some feelings stay etched in hearts –and steel- forever. (Suikoden II)


The Third

_Who is the third who walks always beside you?  
When I count, there are only you and I together  
But when I look ahead up the white road  
There is always another one walking beside you  
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded  
I do not know whether a man or a woman  
-But who is that on the other side of you? _

T.S. Elliot, _What the Thunder said, part of The Waste Land_

Victor clambered up the stairs, his uncertain footsteps echoing in the slumbering fort. His alcohol-drenched muscles gave way and he stumbled. Swearing under his breath, he grabbed at the log that had been nailed to the wall to serve as a rudimentary banister. His free hand searched for the next step, and when he felt the familiar angles sharp against his palm, he hoisted himself up, grumbling, only to freeze in his first lumbering step.

A noise... a whisper of a conversation... wafted on the air.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, then scrubbed at his red, aching eyes with his knuckles.

This was no dream, he was awake, and he was not alone.  
It came from outside... he could still hear the shadows of words he could not make out.

Curious, he tried to soften his step, and made his way past his room to the door that led to the balcony. Leaning heavily on the doorframe, he strained to hear more. And there it was, a breadcrumb trail of murmurs. He inched closer, the voice a tenuous thread pulling him, the words still unintelligible, low, rushed, stumbling into one another, dripping with... sadness.

He stepped on the balcony, his hands feeling his way across the coarse wooden walls of the mercenary fort, seeking the ladder leading to the roof. In the distance, beyond the training grounds, he could see the lights of the sentries. They were not the only ones gazing at the darkened sky tonight.

The voice became sharp, and the silence bled. Victor's fingers caught one of the rungs, and he started his ascension, concentrating on every step. One hand, then the other. One foot, then... his second foot missed its target and he swore. He heard noise from his destination, a flutter of movement. Hitting the rung on his second attempt, he hoisted himself on the fort's roof. Made of sturdy timber, and caked with dried mud as a fire-retardant, it could easily hold a body of archers to defend the perimeter, but at the moment it served simply as a haven for one man.

Victor rolled over, onto his back, his arms flung wide.

"You were talking to her weren't you?"

Greeted by a leaden silence, Victor let his head roll to the side, moaning as the first twinge of pain ignited in his head. The man standing on the roof was shrouded in darkness, a black outline cut out of the starry sky, a vast expanse of emptiness.

"You could at least look at me..."

"You stink."

"So you do talk to the living sometimes. I'm flattered."

"You drank again tonight. We're responsible for this fort, what were you thinking?"

He turned, his cloak billowing behind him, momentarily hiding the sky and drowning Victor in a rippling, living nothingness. From the tone of his voice, he must have been frowning, his jaw set in anger, but the obscurity rounded the edges, smoothed the details and turned him into a creature of shadows. A wild, startled creature with stars clinging to his lashes.

Victor's voice rang on the roof, too loud, and he winced as pain flared in his head.

"You..." he softened his rough voice, "You were talking to her, weren't you?"

The man blinked, stars dancing on his cheeks, painting a shining trail as their brightness dimmed. One of his hands strayed to his sword hilt, his fingers running along the guard, then the blade, his touch soft like a caress.

"Look at you, moping on a roof-top when you should be sleeping. We're responsible for his fort, what were you thinking?"

The hand that was stroking the sword stilled, and the other tightened around a strip of fabric, shaking. His challenge unheeded, Victor plowed on, propping up his head on his forearm as if he was lounging on a comfortable bed, not hard, packed soil.

"What you need, my friend, is to get laid. Or at least to drink some..."

He was cut off by the ominous hiss of a sword sliding from its scabbard. Half-drawn, the blade shone in the sparse moonlight, its reflection marred by an inscription etched in the metal.

"What does it mean... on your blade... I always wondered what it meant..."

"You're drunk."

"I'm inquisitive. And, yes, drunk."

The blade was thrust back in its sheath, and he rested his hand on the pommel, his thumb stroking it gently.

"It means... it means... forever... it means... never again... it means... everything."

"Does she ever answer you?"

He brought his hands to his brow, wrapping the fabric around his head then tying it with practiced ease. Once done, he walked towards the ladder, stepped over Victor as is he was not there and headed down. Before his head dipped below the line of the roof, he called out: "Get some rest, we have to figure out what to do if that boy doesn't return. And what to do if he does."

Silence took hold of the rooftop once more, and Victor shifted slightly, to gaze at the heavens. A cloud passed over Tenan star, hiding it from view. He raked his nails against his scalp in frustration and rolled over on his stomach, assaulted by the pungent smell of the sun-dried earth. He closed his eyes, his weary body settling in for the night.

"Tell me... does she ever answer you..."


End file.
